


Sick Day

by pbsee



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Sickfic, nothing hardcore like ignis has a cold and gladio is there for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pbsee/pseuds/pbsee
Summary: After a brief back and forth of ‘ands’ and ‘buts,’ he was able to weasel a promise out of Ignis that not under any circumstances would he pick up anything related to work— that included checking and sending emails, as well as reading any advisory reports in bed (that most certainly did not qualify for “light-reading suitable for bedtime” as Ignis had tried to reason).But Gladio knew damn well he wasn’t going to listen.That’s how he found himself waiting for Ignis to let him in, bottle of water and bag of cold medicine in hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll! This was written for a request I received on tumblr and I figured I'd share it here too (since I hadn't posted anything since 2014, whoops....). Honestly this is my first venture into sfw writing in awhile, how embarrassing, like, I think I've forgotten how to not porn. But I hope you enjoy!

Anyone in the Citadel knew that when Ignis Scientia, Advisor to the future king and resident workaholic stiff, willingly canceled a meeting, something in the balance of the universe had gone seriously awry. So as Gladiolus stood out in front of the Advisor’s apartment door, rapping against the solid white wood with heavy handiness, he remarked that today must have been one of those days. 

It had been early, during his morning run, when his phone buzzed with a call— not entirely unusual, however the voice greeting him on the other end was.

“ _Gladio?”_ A sniff. “ _Good morning_ ” Gravelly. Sick.

“Ignis? Hey, you alright?”

“ _Not quite._ _Unfortunately, I’m feeling a bit under the weather.._.” A deep cough. “ _I am afraid we will have to reschedule for today. My apologies for the inconvenience, I know you—”_ Another sniffle, followed by another cough and an attempt to clear his throat.

“It’s alright, don’t even think about it.” Leave it to Ignis to worry about how it affects _him_ , “Rest, Iggy. I’m serious. You need it.”

After a brief back and forth of ‘ands’ and ‘buts,’ Gladio was able to weasel a promise out of him that not under any circumstances would he pick up _anything_ related to work— that included checking and sending emails, as well as reading any advisory reports in bed (that most certainly did not qualify for “ _light-reading suitable for bedtime_ ” as Ignis had tried to reason).

 

But Gladio knew damn well he wasn’t going to listen.

 

That’s how he found himself waiting for Ignis to let him in, bottle of water and bag of cold medicine in hand. He could hear Ignis shuffling around on the other side— his stuffy “Just a minute” made more muffled by the distance— before it all stopped as he looked through the peephole. Gladio couldn’t hear Ignis’ sigh, but would be willing to bet good money that he did.

A couple of clicks from the locks and he was greeted with the man of the hour. Ignis stood in the doorway dressed in pajamas and covered furthermore by a thick bathrobe, looking the least dignified Gladio had seen him in ages.

 “Gladio?” If it weren’t for the woeful look on his face, he probably would have laughed at way Ignis’ hair skewed too far to the right and stuck too flat on the left, bangs equally as lopsided. “What’s going on?”

 Gladio whistled, a smile creeping its way onto his lips, “Don’t you look like the belle of the ball. The red nose really brings out the green in your eyes.”

Ignis adjusted his glasses, eyelids looking heavy underneath them and wildly unamused. “Gladio…” _There_ was the sigh. “Don’t tell me you came all the way here to mock me.”

“No. You sounded like shit, so,” he lifted the plastic bag as proof, “I’m here to fix that.” He stepped inside, shedding himself of his heavy winter coat and toeing off his boots, before Ignis could finish saying “You know that’s not necessary, I am perfectly capable of—“

“—taking care of yourself. Yeah, we both know that’s not true.” From over the advisor’s shoulder, Gladio could spot the laptop, flipped open and screen glowing, alongside a box of tissues on the dining room table. A few papers stacked together neatly in piles surrounded it, next to a cup of what he presumed to be tea, and a pen tucked in the breast pocket of Ignis’ robe— one that Gladio reached forward to snatch, tapping it against his culprit’s chest with a knowing grin. “Glad to see you’ve been resting.”

Ignis swatted the hand back, “Monica requires the reports by Thursday,” snatching and repocketing the pen before stopping to cough in the crook of his arm. He knew Gladio was right—but things were not going to write themselves— and yet he followed him to the table and watched as he closed the laptop and set down the pharmaceutical bag. There’s a fruitless reason for his stubbornness caught on his tongue, “I’m already behind on work after tending to Noct last week…” It wasn’t a complaint necessarily, just more of the truth.

He hadn’t expected to visit the prince and find him huddled up in bed, snot-nosed and freezing in a fever-induced chill, begging him to turn up the thermostat (then back down, then up again). If he thought hard enough, he could still hear him groaning about body aches and refusing any form of natural remedy, instead choosing to down cold and flu pills like candy, which in-turn gave him surreal dreams that he complained about on end. Sick-Noctis was on par with Woken-Up-Prematurely-Noctis. Grumpy, stubborn, a bit needy. Not exactly a joy to be around. Then again, when sick, who was?

 

Without protest, Gladio guided him down the hall, hand resting at his lower back with enough force to get him moving and a quiet “C’mon.” Walking him to bed, like a child caught up past their bedtime. Being steadily inched towards his bedroom, Ignis thought about excusing himself to go finish the email he’d been in the midst of writing; but if he was being honest, laying down sounded like a welcome idea, if only for an hour or so— perhaps the thrumming of his head would subside… no doubt a courtesy of congestion mixed with stress and a little dash of having the brightness set too high on his computer.

“Must’ve caught this from Noct…” Gladio frowned and shook his head, taking to rearranging the pillows on Ignis’ bed while he gestured for him to get into it, “I told you he should’ve been quarantined.”

With a laugh, Ignis complied. His blankets had never felt warmer and the softness of his mattress was infinitely better than the stiff chair he’d spent his afternoon in. “And who was going to see that he would eat properly?”

“You’re too easy on him, you know that?” The knowing look Gladio casted him fuzzed considerably as the man leaned down to remove his glasses, gently brushing his thumb against his cheek. “Now,” he pulled the blankets further up Ignis’ chest, almost too high, “what do you need?”

“You genuinely don’t see the irony in this do you.”

“Don’t pull that on me.” Heat rose to his face and he thanked the Six he rarely ever visibly turned red. “This is different.”

 Ignis reached out to brush his hand against Gladio’s with a small smile, “If that’s so, get me the Ulwaatberry Syrup from the fridge, if you must.”

 “The what?”

 “It’s in a jar in the fridge. Just a simple home remedy is all.”

 “You know I brought you cold medicine, if you’d rather—?” Ignis coughed heartily and shook his head, loose bangs tousling, undoubtedly disapproving as Gladio looked at him with confusion, waiting for a reason. But then it sunk in. All the health magazine subscriptions on his bedside table, all the knowledge about vitamins, and nutrients, and what type of oil to lather on your face for perfect skin. “What? Don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ people?” The ones who would rather suffer, drinking ginger tea and chugging orange juice and flushing their sinuses with one of those _nose-teapots_ instead of taking a decongestion pill twice a day. Illness-borne masochists.

 “I most certainly am ‘one of those people,’ thank you very much.” He could see Gladio raising his eyebrows at him and how his brown eyes glinted like he was laughing, “I find that a little natural treatment can go a long way.”

 How many early weekend mornings did he wake up to find Ignis reclining on the loveseat, Ebony in hand, watching Insomnia’s morning news and shushing so much as a yawn out of him to hear the latest in health food fads. This week Ulwaat berries are the be all end all curative, next week they’re cancer-causing and Alstrooms are the next fountain of youth. Cycle, rinse, and repeat. Really, as Gladio thought back, he should’ve suspected this was coming.

 “Sure, whatever you say, Iggy. I’m on it.”

 

A few short minutes later, when Ignis could hear cabinet doors opening and closing in the kitchen alongside of glasses clinking, he was nearly positive Gladio was not, in fact, ‘ _on it_.’ And he became absolutely positive when the man came sauntering back into the bedroom, a near childish look of mischief written on his face, and a glass of…something…something decisively not made from any fruit he’d ever seen...in his hand.

 

“Last time I checked, it was purple,” Ignis deadpanned, staring down the amber liquid as Gladio motioned for him to scoot over slightly and joined him in bed, sitting on the edge.

 “Last time I checked, it didn’t work.”

 Gladio loved how the other man’s evil eye was considerably less evil without his glasses and a disbelieving smile lifting the corners of his mouth. But he wasn’t about to outright admit that he couldn’t find the syrup and how, when he finally did spot _something_ , it looked like glorified grape juice and he really just couldn’t bring himself to play into it; he’d grabbed the brandy from the cabinet— the expensive stuff he knew Ignis kept solely for flavoring sauces and holiday sweets— and did what he knew best. “Just trust me on this,” he said, handing the glass over. Even with the stuffiest nose, Ignis could smell the alcohol and grimaced— not exactly the cabernet sauvignon he took to so fondly.

 “Hey, try not to look so disturbed.” He leaned in to tap the rim of the glass where a lemon wedge rested. “It’s my grandmother’s trick. Worked for all her 80 years.”

“Your grandmother is an alcoholic.” It wasn’t much of a secret. Neither were her drunken flirtations towards Ignis at the last family gathering Gladio had invited him to; getting a bit handsy when drunk apparently ran in the family. There was a good reason the head matriarch of the Amicitia family was kept on a tight leash at the royal celebrations.

Gladio snorted, “Yeah and she’s still kickin’. Goes to show ya, a little alcohol preservation never hurt anyone.”

 Ignis sat further up as Gladio swung his legs onto the bed, leaning back on the headboard to bump shoulders together, feeling the feverish warmth coming from him.

 “You understand I’m only doing this to prove you wrong come tomorrow morning when I’m worse.” Code for: _You understand I’m only doing this because I love you_.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” _I love you too._

 With that, Ignis slipped the lemon into the cup, tilted his head back and took a sip. A small taste was enough to curl his lip and furrow his brows together, much to Gladio’s amusement. There was a light touch of lemon, honey _,_ a subtle hint of _cinnamon?_ And an overwhelming tinge of warm booze that stung at the back of his throat as he swallowed heavily.

 Ignis bit back a cough. “This,” he said, unscrunching his nose and tapping the glass, “is positively dreadful.”

“Would you prefer the cold medicine, Mr. Holistic?”

 “Not in the slightest.” That got him to take another sip, at least. Not as abrasive as the first, but equally as warming. “What is this, if I may ask?”

 “It’s a Hot Toddy. Think of it like drinking tea with some added… spice.”

 Ignis cast him a disbelieving look. “Absolutely not.” Yet he continued to nurse the drink until it was nearing halfway gone. He wasn’t admitting that it was getting easier, if not a tad better tasting with each sip. The sensation of alcohol buzzing throughout his body made him tired. He leaned against Gladio then rested his head against his shoulder to peer at the text he was sending off to his sister— something about being home late and a reply back wishing Ignis well with far too many emojis.

“Hey.” Gladio nudged him after slipping his phone back in his pant’s pocket. He snuck a hand under the sheets and found Ignis’ to lace their fingers together. “Finish the whole thing and maybe I’ll treat you to something better.”

“Gladio, please.” He sniffled, almost as if reminding him that he was not in the best health for…strenuous bedroom activities, and nodded towards the drink. “It’s not _that_ fast acting.”

 “Who said anything about sex?”

 “You, just now.”

 

Regardless, Ignis committed to getting the whole thing down, steadily dwindling it to the final sip; in a swift flick of the wrist he tilted the glass in a mock ‘cheers’ and downed the last of it. Right when he’d swallowed and the heat blossomed in his stomach, before he can protest that he’s too gross for any sort of physical affection, Gladio snaked his hand under his jaw to tilt his head back, brining his lips forward against him in a closed mouth kiss. Ignis hummed, a low rumble against their lips, as Gladio laced his fingers in Ignis’ bathrobe and tugged him closer, brushing a hand through his unusually messy hair. It’s gentle, having Gladio’s soft lips pressed against his own, chapped from sickness, and sweetly innocent until he feels the other’s tongue swipe against him. For the most part, Ignis had parted his lips to breathe again but played back with a flick of his tongue— congestion combined with sealed lips didn’t make for the greatest combination anyhow.

It was nothing more than a slow open-mouthed kiss, messy and uncoordinated in the way he has to keep breaking away to catch his breath like he’s learning how to kiss all over again. And it was too warm and Ignis couldn’t taste him like he usually could, yet there was something so much more intimate. There was no push for something more, just a simple kiss.

Gladio bumped their foreheads together before pulling away, licking his bottom lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Iggy, that drink tasted great to me.”

Feeling hazy if not a bit happily detached from himself, Ignis laid down further in bed, dragging Gladio down with him onto the pillows, and brought his hand to rest against his broad chest. He laughed at him softly, a breathless disapproving sound he’d make whenever someone was acting foolishly.

“What?” 

“You do realize you’re next now?”

“Hm?”

He motioned in-between their mouths.

“To catch this.”

“Not a chance. When’s the last time you ever saw _me_ sick?”

 

Ignis certainly couldn’t recall the last time, but he would soon be able to recall the next time, as he would key his way into Gladio’s apartment, grocery bags loaded with the ingredients for home-made Quillhorn soup in hand, to find the mountain of a man buried in blankets on the couch, surrounded by crumpled tissues, and looking absolutely pitiful with a red nose to boot— only about 3 days later.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hopefully that wasn't too terrible, haha. 
> 
> If you wanna drop me a line or request something, check out my tumblr @chocobrosb4hoes 
> 
> ....and, not to hype anything, but expect some nsfw XV stuff from me soon~


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